


Retreat

by ishiptheships



Series: I'm gonna ruin Claude's whole career [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Before the fall of derdriu, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, CF Route, F/M, Trans Claude, Trans Male Character, ft. CF stressed as fuck claude, hilda: haha lemme deny my feelings before i die but also eat some boochie while i'm at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishiptheships/pseuds/ishiptheships
Summary: “Of course. What would you do without me?”--CF route, the night before the fall of Derdriu. Hilda evaluates her relationship with Claude.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Series: I'm gonna ruin Claude's whole career [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648216
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	Retreat

**Author's Note:**

> Claude is trans in this! So i use "clit" and other descriptive language of the sort. just as a warning for those who it might trigger dysphoria

Unease keeps Hilda up until the moon is high in the sky.

She eventually sits up and stares out the window of her guest bedroom at the Reigan Estate. She should be comfortable—she’s wearing her favorite nightgown, her hair in a lose braid to prevent tangles, and she patted her wrists and the pulse at her neck with her perfume just like any other night.

Claude made sure her stay at Derdriu was comfortable. He allowed her to choose any room she wanted (at that point, she didn’t even really care), made sure any of her wants and needs were meet, and made sure she had as much freedom within the estate as possible. She can’t remember how long she has stayed in the Alliance capital, but evidence of her living here accumulated throughout the bedroom: her perfume at the bedside table, her hairbrush and mirror at the desk now turned into a vanity, her dirty clothes accumulating in a pile in the corner of the room. Claude probably meant to make her not feel _too_ too homesick, but she was never one to miss home. Besides, the dark wooden accents of the interior design highly resembled the architecture in the Goneril territory.

But homesickness isn’t why she’s so uneasy. She knows why she’s so uneasy. The empire’s army is scheduled to arrive at Derdriu tomorrow morning. There’s no point in avoiding the fact now. She rubs her eyes, which feel as heavy as her axe, and groans to herself. She really should get some sleep.

But what was the point? She’s too anxious to sleep, and a walk around a protected building wouldn’t hurt. Hilda slips out of bed, as comfortable as it was, to undo her braid and pull her hair up into her ponytail. She puts on her boots, grabs a cloak to drape over her shoulders ,and sneaks into the dark hallways of the estate.

The hallways are lined with windows that look into the courtyard, so moonlight illuminates her path. She walks slowly, ruminating about the events that had led her here in the first place. Hilda’s not one to be sentimental, but she finds herself wishing for her school days, missing the company of Leonie and Raphael and Ignatz, who was reported missing after the battle at the Bridge. She hopes he escaped out of the country, found his family. She doesn’t want to think what became of him.

She recently saw Marianne and Lorenz, as their families hold territories and Claude’s leadership included roundtable meetings of all of those in power. Of course, all of their families would rather not get involved, and refused to fight for their cause. Marianne would not fight, and she doesn’t blame her. Meanwhile, Lysithea defected to the empire. She does not wish to see her on the battlefield. AndLorenz, though his father has allegiance with the Empire, was forbidden to fight against the Empire in any compacity. She remembers Lorenz’s quiet conversation with Claude at the last meeting months ago in which they shook hands and parted.

With a divided Alliance, Claude’s resources are scarce, and she senses his patience running thin. She knows he’s probably not in bed either. She knows how he is before big battles; even before their mock battle at Gronder, he barely slept a wink that night. Yet, his ability to hide his fatigue and put on his confidence was something she admired. But lately he had been starting to lose his façade the longer he tried to hold the Alliance together. Not during official meetings of course, but when Judith or Nader poked fun at him or endearingly called him childish names, he would break. And of course she noticed. She notices everything about him and she hates to admit it, but seeing how the war affected him…Hilda couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. The amount of pressure he had to be in…

“Midnight stroll?”

Hilda jumps and whips around to see a large shadow of a man, but the moonlight relieves her worries. She clutches her chest.

“Nader, you scared me!”

He lets out a laugh, hardy but low because of how late it is. “Can’t sleep?”

“No.” There’s no point in lying. “What about you?”

“Night patrol.” Nader sighs gently before scratching his beard. “I wandered by our poor fearless leader’s room. Seems like he’s awake too.”

“I’m not surprised.” Hilda wraps herself up in her cloak. 

“You should have told me that a while ago. I tried to get him to sleep last month and he just snapped at me. Poor kid.”

“He’s always been like that.” She hugs herself and looks out the window. “He’s been anxious. You’ve noticed too right?”

Nader hums in agreement. “It’s gotten worse since the battle at Myrddin. Ever since Judith died.” Nader’s shoulders sag and he sighs again. “I didn’t know her very long, but she seemed like a formidable leader. A powerful woman.”

Hilda frowns. The estate does seem empty and less boisterous without her. “You’re right. She was a force alright.”

The memory of Judith von Daphnel hangs over them before Nader speaks again. “Miss Goneril.”

Hilda laughs dryly. “Yes?”

“He’s been like this since he was a kid. I know you’re the closest with him, but it’s his nature. He evaluates every possibility. Let him do it. He’s too stubborn.”

Hilda presses her lips together.

“I know you’re worried, Miss Goneril, but try and get some sleep. The best way you can help him is to fight your hardest tomorrow. I will do the same.”

Hilda decides to hum in agreement. She lets silence fall before she purses her lips. “Maybe I should try to sleep then.”

“Maybe you’ll have better luck than me.” Nader sighs and Hilda pats his arm sympathetically before they part.

Hilda makes sure Nader rounds the corner of the hallway before she slowly climbs the stairs to the top floor. She finds the heavyset doors of Claude’s bedroom, and sees the warm candlelight flicker in the cracks of the door like molten gold. She notices her stomach feels uneasy, and she doesn’t know why. The door opens and she pushes it as quietly as she can.

The Leader of the Alliance leans over a round table in his room. He hasn’t changed out of his uniform yet, but his gloves are off. His hands finger a small wooden figure on the map of Derdriu. The candlelight flickers, and it’s hard to see which placeholder he’s touching. Hilda decides to not pay it much attention.

Hilda takes a deep breath and tears her gaze from him to focus on the moon in the window. She can see it from where she just entered Claude bedroom.

“Claude, you need some sleep. It’s late.” She says gently, but knowing nothing will truly convince him. Hilda closes the door behind her. The doors at the Reigan estate are heavy, so they close with a thud. She winces a little, hopes Nader didn’t hear, and turns back forward.

Claude’s eyes are glued to the map in front of him.

“Claude.” She says firmly.

“I heard you.” He sounds tired, and he runs his free hand through his hair. He finally stands straight and looks over at her. Goddess, the bags under his eyes. 

“Everyone thinks you’re asleep. Nader—”

“He sent you, didn’t he?” Claude looks down at the map again and places the piece somewhere on the map. He mumbles to himself and shakes his head.

Hilda tongues her cheek with mild frustration, but walks up to the table instead. She knows how he works, and she knows how to convince people to do what she wants. Unfortunately, Claude usually saw right through that, but that never stopped him from humoring her anyways.

“He was worried, but he said not to bother you.” Her gaze trails across the rough paper, the multitude of pieces scattered across the board. There’s a large piece shaped almost like a hawk to the east at the docks. She knows that piece is for the Almyran troops Claude recruited, led by Nader. Claude’s piece is set at the northeast, a deer boardgame piece he had since their days at Garreg Mach.

Hilda feels his green eyes on her. “Then?”

She rolls her eyes. “Since when did I listen to anyone? And I was worried too.”

Claude hums gently and he picks up a piece placed at the center of the three entrances to Derdriu. She doesn’t recognize it.

“What are you thinking?” Hilda stares at the wooden piece in his hand. It’s shaped like a tower, and she might have seen it among Claude’s personal chess set.

“This…” He regards the chess piece carefully, holding it in his open palm. “This is you.”

“I’m flattered. I get my own special placeholder.”

He snorts and she sees his eyes drag across the map from his hand to the deer in the upper right corner. He sighs and rubs the back of his head, his gaze falling back to Hilda’s piece. His hand closes around the rook. “The issues is that I don’t know Edelgard’s plans. There’s not enough time before tomorrow to evacuate the city. I don’t want any civilians killed.”

Hilda can see his mind going a mile a minute. “Where was I originally?”

“Here.” He places the piece in the middle of the map, near the three entrances of the city.

“So, what’s the issue?”

Claude doesn’t respond. He just taps his forefinger anxiously against the table surface. Hilda sees how he measures his words in his mouth before he says them. “Hilds, tomorrow…might go wrong.”

 _Oh dear._ Hilda swallows the lump in her throat and she stares at Claude’s placeholder at the upper east corner. “I know.”

“There’s a good chance I won’t make it tomorrow.” Claude’s eyes bore into the top of her head. “For real this time.”

“Yeah.” She holds her breath. “Yeah, I know.” She knows this as a fact; it’s a fact every battle, but it never quite hit her like it does tonight. This could all end tomorrow. And she would have to witness the fall of the Alliance. The fall of…whatever Claude was to her. Her leader. Her friend. That alone makes her blood run cold.

She refuses to let that happen. She will not let the Alliance fall. She won’t let him die—he deserves so much more than to die for a nation that has treated him like shit.

Blinking the brief tears from her eyes, she watches as he picks up her piece again and stares down at his palm before closing his hand around the rook. When he does so, her chest is tight as if he clutched her heart instead. It’s too vulnerable, and the way he clutches it makes her feel uncomfortable.

She knows what he’s doing. He wants to keep her close, to make sure she lives through the battle. But the needs of the Alliance and his own wants conflict, and he doesn’t know what to do. Claude was a man who would always get what he wanted, no matter how long he would have to finesse the situation. He would have the Alliance still standing and Hilda to live. Even though, she’s told him so many times, over and over, that she would never die for someone else.

And he’s so wrong. She knows that now.

Hilda places her hand on his closed fist and pries the chess piece from his grip. It doesn’t help the feeling go away. “Claude, I think you need to sleep.” The rook is heavy in her fingers.

“I’m not done.” He says with conviction, and it’s has a hint of annoyance. He holds out his hand for the rook to fall back into.

“You’ve figured it out. I’m going here right?” She points to the middle of the map. “I’m at the front lines. Your first offense. That’s my job.” She hears him sigh. “Good. It’s time for bed.”

“ _Hilda_.” His hand waits for her to give in and hand back the chess piece.

She meets his eyes and stares at him. His hair, while almost always misbehaving, falls more into his eyes than usual. The candlelight fails to hide his fatigue, even with the moving shadows it creates. Her gaze falls down to his hand. Holy shit, since when did they get so big? She remembers years ago when his hands were only larger than hers. Now, she could probably fit most of her hand within his palm.

A terrible idea passes her mind. She promised herself that she would never do this, but she’s dying tomorrow, so why the hell not? And things like this—persuading, using her womanly charm, being his friend—was all she was good for anyways. And he can do with the sleep.

Tiptoeing isn’t enough for her to reach him, so she drops the rook into his open hand, and she places each hand on either side of his face, fingers brushing against his beard, before pulling him down to her.

Hilda hears the chess piece hit the floor even before their lips meet, his green eyes filled with shock, but once they do, she feels him melt against her. A second lasts a lifetime and not enough time at all before his eyes spring open and his hands push her away, rougher than she knows he intended. She expects this reaction from him; the kiss was short-lived, but enough for her to know how his lips feel against hers.

Claude eyes are filled with confusion as she just folds her arms across her chest, staring at him. She bites her lip.

“That—” Claude starts. “—was a bad idea.”

 _He’s right._ “Don’t think too much into it.” She finds herself saying, even though every thought in her mind tells her she’s awakening something that should not be woken. But every inch of her tingles as if she’s a live wire. “Relax, Claude.”

Claude breathes an incredulous laugh. “ _How can I—"_

“ _Relax_.” Hilda takes his hand. And she surprises even herself when she walks towards his bed. He reluctantly follows.

She sits on the edge of his bed—luckily large enough for two, unlike those crappy beds they had at the Monastery—and makes quick work of her hair, letting it fall down her back like a velvet curtain they probably have at those Adrestian operas. And when she leans up to kiss him again, she realizes he meets her halfway.

He’s clumsy, but she is too—she hasn’t kissed anyone in _years_. She keeps a hand on his jaw and a hand behind her to stabilize herself because _holy shit_ , he smells like pine and it’s dizzying, and Claude leans over her, hands going either side of her, clutching the bedsheets. She pulls away from him to tilt his head and kiss his jawline and neck. She tastes the skin right under his ear and jaw and she hears him let out a quivering breath and feels it land on her collarbone. The oil he uses on his beard smells warm like clove, and his skin tastes of something herby, like he’s been outside. The salt of his skin lands on her tongue as she drags it to his ear, and the sheets around her tighten within his grip. The sound that escapes his lips is soft and low, but makes her want to make him groan louder.

She pulls away to look at him, his cheeks flushed. Goddess, her heart is racing. She traces her hands on his chest and before she has any doubts she asks, “Do you want to take this off?”

Claude gulps. “Oh…yeah.” He moves stiffly and turns to unbutton his jacket, his undershirt loose against his figure. The uniform, though it exaggerates his shoulders, does not compare. He’s _big_ and the broadness of his torso compliments the belt at his waist. Hilda feels heat pool between her legs, and she licks her kiss-bitten lips. He turns again to her, and she hates how _beautiful_ he is and how it takes her breath away. She spreads her legs to fit his body against her. His belly bumps her groin briefly and she hopes she doesn’t look too affected.

“Are you okay?”

His hands settle on her waist. “Of course. This is just…surprising.”

“We can stop anytime—” Her nervousness comes back up again.

“No.” He leans down and kisses her gently, surprising her. He speaks against her lips. “Maybe you’re right, I need this.”

They kiss again, more rushed this time, her hands exploring his chest before Claude loses his patience and reaches behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head. Her fingers trace the hair on his breast and down his midline, taking time at his scars, both intentional and received in battle. His ribs flare at her touch and it amazes her how she affects him. When she traces the scars on either side of his chest, she feels him smile gently onto her lips.

This compels her to reach for his belt, pausing their kissing to fumble with the metal bit to loosen his pants. They drop to the floor and she pauses at his smallclothes. She looks up at him. Pupils blown, he nods and she peels them away.

His wetness clings to the inside of his smallclothes and between his thighs (gods, his thighs) as her eyes trail down to the hair gathered at his groin, his clit swollen, peeking out of rose-brown skin. She feels how wet _she_ is in her panties and it’s uncomfortable as hell, but before Claude can say anything, she gathers herself up and lowers herself down.

“Hilda—” Claude’s voice cracks slightly.

She lets her mouth go slack, watering, as she presses her tongue against his folds then dragging it against his clit. Claude moans gently, open mouthed, and leans over the bed, hands gripping at the covers. He smells musky and thick, coating her lips and mouth with his briny but clean taste. She’s done this before. She’s given head more than a few times in her life, so why is she so damn nervous?

She licks around his folds, holding him up with her hands, urging him to grind against her face. He doesn’t until she takes his erection into her mouth and sucks gently. A louder _ah_ escapes his lips as he bucks, legs shaking. The back of her head bumps the edge of the bed.

“Ow.” She says, not because it hurts but because it’s a shock.

“S-sorry.” He mumbles, bringing his hand to cradle her head as she lets him rub himself over her tongue and mouth. She squeezes his hips to keep him standing and her heart swells as she notices his thumb brushes the back of her head endearingly.

The wicked suck from her lips eventually has him sobbing into the back of his hand as she flicks her tongue over his clit until she feels his legs tense around her. He’s repeating her name…at least she thinks so; she can’t hear very well past his thighs, pressing against either side of her head. She redoubles her efforts, her brow furrowing as she feels the grip on her head tighten, his thighs shake, and he lets out a whine that she’s _never_ heard him make before and she can’t help but laugh even if her mouth is full. Wet lands heavily on her on her lips as Claude rides out his orgasm, grinding gently on her tongue. His cum leaves her mouth a mess, but she presses kisses around his clit until he catches his breath.

Claude brings her to standing, partly to have her stabilize him, partly to kiss her once again. He unexpectedly uses too much tongue. She pulls away.

“Ugh, gross, Claude, I didn’t even wipe my mouth!”

He laughs, and it’s low and charming. Gods, she hasn’t heard that in a long time, and her heart sings. “I don’t mind.” He says gently, and he gazes at her in a way she has never seen before. It’s like as if he’s staring into her soul, and it kind of scares her. His cheeks are flushed and sweat beads at his temple, but he’s happier than he’s looked in years. He looks almost young again. It’s so refreshing that she doesn’t even push him away when he kisses her again.

Clumsily, Claude waddles onto the bed and lies there with a forearm over his eyes, breathing deeply. Hilda takes his discarded undershirt and wipes her mouth before gathering her hair up again in a ponytail.

Claude stirs. “Are you leaving?”

Oh no. Here it comes. Just like most every other time, she tries to leave before her actions can be reciprocated. And just like every other time, she says it’s okay and leaves. So, she shrugs. “You need to sleep.”

“We’re not done.” He reaches for her and against her better judgement, she extends her hand to meet him. A part of her brain goes off, screaming. _What are you doing what are you doing—_

“Claude…” His hands go around her waist and brings her close to him. Her heart feels like it’s going to burst, and she closes her eyes. Gods, he feels so good, and she kicks herself that she only has this for one night. 

Claude sits up properly to bend down and kiss her again before moving to her neck. He gathers her up in his lap and kisses her collarbone, his hands moving up from her waist to hold her breasts through her nightgown, his grip strong and warm, and a groan escapes her lips as she clings to him. Her fingers tangle in his hair as she feels his tongue against her skin, his breath hot.

It’s enough to convince her to stay. What a fool she is. “Hold on.”

Claude nods and she removes herself from his lap. She does away with her boots, and she reaches up to let her hair fall again. When she goes back to him, she sees Claude staring, laying on his back.She climbs into the bed and straddles him. He sits up again to meet her, reaching to cup her breasts. His thumbs brush her nipples and she bites her lip to prevent a gasp. All the time, his eyes are on her and the miniscule expressions she’s making. Is she blushing? She feels hot, and it’s embarrassing. Can he feel how she’s so wet, it’s bled through her panties?

He traces the curves of her body to feel her ass, and it’s a shame because she hasn’t even shown her boobs yet. She huffs, raises herself out of Claude’s reach, and lowers the neckline of her dress to let her breasts free. A strand of long pink hair falls over her shoulder and she makes a grand motion to flip it her hair back. Claude’s green eyes are staring and it fuels her need for him to touch her.

Claude visibly gulps, his eyes traveling up and down from her eyes to her chest, and she can sense how nervous he is. Strange how the removal of such thin fabric makes such a difference. So, she takes his hands, and has them cup her breasts. Emboldened, he kisses them, and Hilda holds him close, the smallest gasps and moans escaping her lips. The way he looks pressed against her, her hand in his hair, has her whispering words of encouragement.

“Claude, you look—” She starts before she feels one hand go lower, reaching underneath the skirt of her dress.

When he touches her through her panties, she almost lets out a moan so loud, Nader would probably hear her from the floor below. She bites Claude’s shoulder, and he breathes shakily, feeling the wetness through her panties, how her clit is hard underneath the plumpness of her sex.

He whispers into her ear. “Hilda can I—”

“Please,” She begs, grinding against the flat of his hand, her fingers pushing into his strong arms, and he pushes her panties aside, too impatient to properly take them off.

His fingers spread her apart, her slickness makes all the difference now that he’s touching her without any barriers. Her hand ends up grabbing up into the back of his head, breathing heavily into the crook of his neck.

“Finger me.” She breathes, and she looks down to see the mess she’s made on his hand.

She hears him let out a low groan in response, and she sits up to watch him as he wets a finger properly against her and presses it inside her.

“More.” She grits out because it’s not enough.

Claude watches as he inserts another finger inside her. His eyes travel from how is his fingers hook into her to her face. She’s _got_ to be blushing furiously now, but it’s too hot to tell.

She touches her cheek, stabilizing herself with her other hand on his shoulder. She groans as she meets his half-lidded eyes on her blissed expression. “Ugh, don’t look at me, I must be so red.”

His response was to just catch her lips with his, and he starts to move his fingers, reaching into her.

It’s hard to breathe, and she loses track of herself as she moves with him, fucking down against his hand. Her clit drags deliciously against his palm from the movement of her hips and his hand, making her knees weak and her legs spread further apart onto him. It’s like he’s holding her up only by his hand between her thighs, pressing into the spot that makes her jerk and double over onto him.

She forgets to be embarrassed at the wet sounds that come from every thrust of his fingers into her as she presses her mouth into his shoulder, trying her very hardest to not make a sound. Her forehead presses into his skin as she bites her lip and digs her nails into his arms, a prolonged whine coming from her as it leads to her a shaking orgasm, clenching against his fingers.

When she comes back to herself, she’s sitting on the bed, her hips and thigh ache from her own efforts, and she closes her eyes, exhausted. She feels Claude’s fingers slip out of her and she forces herself to open her eyes again.

“Sorry. The mess.” She manages, and her leg twitches of its own accord.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Claude says plainly, reaching down to get his discarded undershirt to wipe his fingers and then start cleaning her up. She’s almost too fucked-out to notice how the gesture worms its way to her heart.

Almost.

She’s too tired, and she allows him to gather her up under the covers, remove her ruined underwear and readjust her nightgown over her. He disappears for a bit (she assumes after he puts on some clothes), and comes back to bed naked, his arms surging behind her to envelope around her torso.

“You should go pee.” He says gently. She feels his beard, prickly against her neck.

“I’m tired. And comfortable.” She mumbles, not even opening her eyes. It doesn’t really matter. It’s dark. “And why?”

Claude clears his throat. “I, uh…read somewhere that it’s good. Prevents infections.”

There’s no point in that then. Infections in a few days or week won’t matter if she’s dying tomorrow for him. “I think I’ll live.” She decides to say. She breathes out a small laugh. “Have you tested it?”

Claude doesn’t respond right away. Hilda can tell he’s weighing his words again. “Ah, no. I’ve read it recently.”

Hilda can tell it’s not the whole truth, but she’s too tired to think too deeply into it. His arms feel good around her, and his face is tucked into where her neck meets her shoulder. His breathing is slow and gentle, and she feels him press gentle kisses into the nape of her neck and shoulder. It’s a warm gesture and makes her relaxed body tingle and long for this, whatever this was, for just a little while longer. His smell, his giving nature, his skin against hers—makes her heart ache that none of this was hers. Not really. She was on borrowed time, to make sure he had everything he wanted.

If it was her that he wanted right now, she would give it to him. But that wouldn’t stop her from doing what she had to do.

As if he can read her mind, he speaks. It’s slow and sleepy. “Hilda.”

She hums in response and turns her head towards him. Her hand holds his at her stomach.

“Tomorrow, please come back to me. I need you.”

Gods, her heart aches. Hilda blinks back tears and brings his knuckles to her lips.

“Of course. What would you do without me?”

**Author's Note:**

> i used a rook to represent hilda bc due to my extensive studies (aka wiki), the name rook originates from persia, and were based on chariots used to carry and archer. Theyre VERY powerful endgame and are often used to make a checkmate


End file.
